


pulse of you

by Aroundthepen (keithkohgane)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, just some self-indulgent ladrien tbh, ladrien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithkohgane/pseuds/Aroundthepen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>libraries were always too cold for adrien anyway</p>
            </blockquote>





	pulse of you

**Author's Note:**

> written for a friend who requested library makeout session on tumblr. title from 'bad blood' by nao.

_i worship you like holy days_ \- bad blood; nao

* * *

 

Evenings in the lycée’s library always feel so much colder than Adrien knows them to be. He knows that the radiators are always on by five o’clock. He knows the librarian even brings extra blankets for the pupils studying after dark because, “in these big stone buildings, you can never have too much heat.”

And yet.

And yet he still finds himself shivering in his seat, reaching for his scarf to wrap around his neck and pulling his jumper from the back of his seat to drape over his shoulders. He still tugs his sleeves down around his hands. It stops him from being able to hold his pen properly, but if he’s being honest with himself, the words on the page stopped making sense half an hour ago. The light is getting too dim for him to make them out, white on black darkening to similar shades of brown.

He’s alone now, at his table tucked in between bookshelves. He sighs and turns to look out the long wide windows, resting his cheek comfortably in his hand. Night is falling, wrapping the city in a sweet lavender and indigo blue. He can’t hear the cars and buses and vans from below but they light up the city as a homage to the stars. Everyone is going home. Children are falling asleep. Ladybug will be just about starting her patrol now.

Oh, he wishes he could be there with her. Jumping rooftops like stepping stones and swinging on the edges of her smile, feeling his heart thump in time to her laugh. He’s alive when he’s out there, but she is life. She leaves a trail of magic, creation, for him to follow.

They’ve begun alternating patrol days this year, both of their desks as heavy with schoolwork as the bags under their eyes. He can’t see hers under her mask, but she wears them in the tired slope of her shoulders.

As a result, he can’t help himself worrying about her. She’s more than capable of handling herself—and others—but he’s her partner. He’s supposed to protect her. Sometimes, he catches sight of her zipping by the lycée on her rounds. Even then, even when she doesn’t see him, doesn’t even know he’s there (doesn’t even know it’s him), he feels his heart speed up.

Once, she saw him. Once she saw him and waved and his heart stopped. He’ll never forget it. She cocked her head and smiled and waved her hand slowly—palm open, fingers stretched; once over, once back—and his heart had crashed right into his ribcage. She’d looked at him so differently. She winked too, before she left restarting his heart all at once, too fast and too hard.

He imagines her there now, standing on the roof of the building opposite, watching him watch her. She wears her hair in a ponytail now, the bottom brushing her shoulders, blue against her black spots. He imagines she bites her lip, ducking her chin to her chest for a moment in thought before throwing her yoyo and disappearing up out of sight.

She leaves and his chest aches.

He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes and pushes his fingers up into his hair and back until he’s gripping the back of his neck. He lets his forehead drop to the desk, trying not to drown in blue, blue, blue.

He concentrates on breathing deeply, slowly, until he hears a light knocking. He looks up and there she is, hanging upside down and looking right at him.

So he wasn’t imagining it.

He pushes too quickly out of his chair and steps right up to the window, trying to reconcile with the fact that she’s here and not just in his head. _Why_ she's here is a question he can't answer. Her lips twitch and suddenly he can’t breathe because she’s so beautiful and he is _so weak_. Her dark hair spills down like ink, melting into the shadows of the night. Her face is moonlight in comparison.

She quirks a perfect eyebrow. _Open the window?_

He does it and tries to look at the metal frame instead of her because he can feel a blush rising in his cheeks. His jumper and scarf make it too warm now, and he discards them on his chair. She flips the right way up and perches delicately on the window sill.

“Thanks,” she says and the word is delicate too.

He smiles through his surely red cheeks. “My pleasure.”

She flashes the white of her teeth when she grins and Adrien’s heart sputters.

“What are you doing here so late?” she asks, and she stares accusingly at the purple bruises under his eyes.

“I, um, I have a test tomorrow. It’s an important one.”

She cocks her head again and in her smile he sees his mother, so gentle and so intelligent. He could fit the entire world in her eyes.

“You won’t stay up too late, I hope.”

He hears an echo of someone else’s words in hers, a kind caring that reminds him of bluebells and pink cotton and home, but he’s too lost in the fact that she seems to care about his wellbeing to think too much of it.

He can’t help his own smile. “I don’t think so.”

“Mm. I hope not.”

She reaches her hand up as if to touch his face, then seems to think better of it, curling her fingers back into her palm. But she doesn’t drop her hand. It hangs there like a tantalising possibility, and something more of Chat Noir makes him take a step forward, a step closer.

Something flickers in her eyes and they seem to sharpen, blue like precious gems, as she slowly uncurls her fingers and brushes them ever so lightly through the outer strands of his hair.

“Your hair…” she murmurs, and he realises how much of a mess it must be, all pushed back and ruffled. Her words hang in the air like fairy lights.

“Uhuh,” is all he can manage, and even that is shaky as she runs her fingers through his hair a little closer to his skin. He can feel the warmth of his blush travel down his neck and up his face.

“It’s all…”

Again, she leaves her words trailing in the air and he can’t remember what breathing means now.

“Yeah,” he says, all breath no noise.

Her palm brushes the skin of his neck, under his jaw and he turns involuntarily into it, his lips brushing against her narrow wrist.

She sighs, “Oh,” and the sound of it is so surprised and so impossibly full of wonder that he smiles against her suit-covered skin. Her hand rests more on his neck and she takes a step closer to him. Slowly, but before he can convince himself not to, he places his hand lightly over hers, sliding his fingers just in between hers, and presses his lips just a little harder against her wrist.

He has no idea what he's doing.

Her sharp intake of breath sparks a fire inside him, right in the middle of his chest that only grows when she tugs him to her and he feels her form against him, angle pressed to angle. He chances a look at her eyes and he sees pupils blown wide, surrounded by an ocean of vivid blue and swallowing him whole. Her cheeks are pink and he sees those freckles sitting beautifully on top of her flushed skin. Her lips are still parted in that ridiculously lovely sigh and he is so in love and so happily stuck there that he doesn’t move for what feels like hours, days, weeks, until suddenly she’s leaning up and she’s kissing him.

She’s kissing him and it feels like everything he’s ever dreamt of and more. Her mouth is hungry on his and she’s kissing past his lips, burning herself into every part of him. She winds her arms tight and strong around his neck and he steps back with her momentum, back and back until he hits a shelf, hard book spines pushing into his spine. He catches her in his arms, feeling his way around the dip in her waist and the edges of her hips, up and down and up and down.

He feels the sharp pain of the books just as much as he feels Ladybug’s body on his, her hands running over his jaw, into his hair, pulling at the collar of his shirt. It’s like she has set every one of his nerves ablaze and he’s burning, burning, and feeling everything.

Her teeth graze his bottom lip and the fire in his chest roars, turning into an inferno. When she pulls back he tries to follow but her breathless laugh leaves him too weak to do much of anything except use the bookshelf to keep him standing. She ducks her head to access the underside of his jaw, trailing her lips down his neck. She’s kissing stars onto his skin and, god, do they burn. He can hardly believe it’s happening, so he kisses her harder, just so he can’t forget.

Her lips pull a moan out of him and her hips respond, crushing closer to him. He gasps and buries a hand in her hair, tugging at silky strands. She nips at the skin in the dip of his collarbone and he feels her grinning into it, leaving him completely and utterly undone.

He chases her lips again and catches them, sucking for a moment on her bottom lip before going deeper, trying to kiss the words he’s not allowed to say onto her lips. He wants her to know them so that when she speaks she’ll hear his voice every time.

_I love you. I love you._

Her breath flames on his skin every time they part for air.

A thump from behind the shelf startles them, but they don’t spring apart. He just tightens his hold on her, trying to keep his eyes closed for as long as possible. The moment has passed; he knows it. These precious few minutes so short and sweet, a perfect bliss.

She pulls back gently from him and his eyes open. He doesn’t try to hold her to him because he knows he can’t. She has to leave and so does he, but it doesn’t mean he won’t hold this moment in the deepest parts of his heart where no one else can reach, where no one else could ever hope to take them.

She looks impossibly more beautiful now, dishevelled and red-cheeked and breathless and unmistakably kissed. The thought makes his face, ears, and neck hot and he smiles bashfully at her.

She returns his smile and his heart beats erratically, pathetically. She takes his face in both hands, reaching up to place a gentle kiss on his nose. He basks in the warm comfort of the gesture before, all too soon, she’s leaving. Her hands leave his skin and she climbs onto the window sill, yoyo at the ready.

She turns from the night to look back at him, biting her lovely lip.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

It takes him a moment and a clearing of his throat to reply. “My pleasure.”

Her smile widens to a grin and he’s left with the image of it because she’s gone when the wind rises. He raises his fingers to touch his lips, feeling hers seared on the tender skin. Did this really just happen?

The window is open and he feels the draft but it’s not nearly enough to slow his heart or cool his skin. His hand falls on his scarf and he rubs the material in his hand.

He thinks, just maybe, it’s a little too hot for that tonight.


End file.
